


Workaholic

by bloodmxrch



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Old Married Couple, Optimus taking care of his stubborn little husband, Self-Worth Issues, mentions of the events in operation: bumblebee
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-16
Updated: 2020-05-16
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:00:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24209344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloodmxrch/pseuds/bloodmxrch
Summary: Even in times of relative calm, Ratchet is nothing if not a workaholic.AKA Ratchet has horrible self care habits and beats himself up mentally, and Optimus won't stand for it.
Relationships: Optimus Prime/Ratchet
Comments: 8
Kudos: 102





	Workaholic

Even in times of relative calm, Ratchet is nothing if not a workaholic. The more prepared they are for the next impending disaster, the less likely they are to lose ground to Megatron's forces, and the less likely they are to lose _each other_. Even after Bumblebee's recent brush with MECH ultimately ended in their favor, the experience still has everyone shaken. Not that he's willing to admit it; repairing Bee's fried T-cog was, by all means, an outstanding triumph on his part. It wasn't supposed to leave him wondering how many more seconds it would have taken for the afterburn to make it irreparable.

He shakes his head physically, as if the thought will fly from his processor with it, and returns to the delicate task before him, having been poised with tools in hand as his mind wrapped itself up in yet another spiral of theoretical failures-- and, occasionally, some not so theoretical. He lowers his instruments back to the sample of synth-en he'd been testing, grumbling to himself, and resumes his work. The autobots will never have stable synthetic energon if he keeps letting himself be distracted by pointless nonsense.

He's not sure how many hours he goes without seeing the rest of his team. Most everything that forces the others to leave the base is just routine patrols, which they hardly ever need to be bridged back from, and now that Bumblebee has his wheels back in working order, none of them feel any particular need to pester him. As exhausted as he pretends not to notice he is, he enjoys hearing nothing but the hum of machinery and the soft clink of glass and metal, holed up and partitioned off from the rest of the base. No one needs his attention, and the pings from his own systems telling him to recharge and refuel come in almost rythmically, just regular enough that he can tune them out to the rest of the background. He's as close to being on autopilot as sensitive formula adjustments will allow him to be, and the sound of large pedes approaching doesn't register until there's already a hand on his back and a voice in his audial.

"You should allow yourself to rest, old friend."

"Primus, Optimus--" he starts, instinctually drawing back from the sample before he can knock something into it, "You nearly scared me into an early grave. You should know better than to sneak up on me like that."

Despite his best efforts to appear seriously angered, Optimus's expression doesn't falter from its place of knowing concern. Scrap, Ratchet thinks, Optimus can probably _feel_ how tired he is.

"You have not refueled or been to berth for the past three cycles." Scrap, frag, and Primus damn it all. Count on Optimus to be monitoring his self-care alongside the innumerable amount of duties he already has. It makes Ratchet feel incompetent at caring for the team in comparison, and he knows Optimus can feel it too by the way his brows furrow in response. At this point he has barely any ground to stand on, but Ratchet is nothing if not a fighter.

"There's work to be done," he says, as if it isn't a constant unspoken truth that's worn out it's welcome on the glossa of every member of team prime.

"The quality of your work will only decline if you continue to neglect yourself."

"We're running low on energon as is; we _need_ this formula to be finished as soon as it can be."

"The others are busy at work securing more for our stockpile in the meantime."

"Which won't mean anything if it all gets used up on a mech that doesn't need it-"

" _Ratchet_." Optimus rumbles in that commanding baritone, and Ratchet knows it is a warning to stand down. As quickly as he brought it out, Optimus shies from his own tone, and Ratchet feels the apology in his field before he can open his mouth to voice the sentiment. Ratchet lays a hand on his before he can start, and Optimus' stance relaxes again when he knows that his old friend doesn't need to hear it.

Resetting his vocalizer, he tries again. "Your lack of presence in the field does not dictate what you do and do not need. Your health is no more expendable than anyone else's." A large servo comes up to cup the side of Ratchet's face, and Optimus' spark aches at the way he leans into it like he's never known touch. Both of them soften in reaction to one another. "Come lie with me, old friend. You are tired, and working yourself down to your struts will not make you less so."

The last vestige of a stubborn mech holds out in a long pause, but eventually, Ratchet concedes. "Alright," he says, his voice exactly as weary as he feels, "Alright, you win. I'll rest. Just promise to wake me up if I recharge for too long. Bumblebee is supposed to report in on any discomfort during transformation, but I don't trust him to tell me if anything feels amiss, and I want to grill him on it when he gets back from patrol."

His spark sings at Optimus' responding smile, even when he knows his answer is a lie. 

"I promise."

The walk to their room is a blur as the full magnitude of his exhaustion is allowed to settle in. It's all he can do to make sure he keeps putting one pede in front of the other, until he doesn't have to anymore-- when did Optimus pick him up? And there is less of a transition between settings than a blink between one location and the next. He vents loudly as he's set down carefully on the berth, aching struts and grinding joints finally given a reprieve from the strain of holding up his frame. Another blink, and Optimus is at his side again. He relaxes onto the berthmat with a heavy vent of his own, frame creaking audibly.

It is petty and selfish to be glad in any sense that his partner is also weary, but some part of Ratchet sighs with all-pervading relief that Optimus would have likely needed a rest whether or not Ratchet was with him. The guilt he'd feel from knowing their leader had to take time from his day to nap with him like he's an unruly child says things about him that he really, _really_ doesn't want to have to investigate, and for now, at the very least, he's safe. 

Turning so that his face is flush with Optimus' neck cabling, he wills his tired body to shuffle forward and press a kiss there, field awash with affection. Optimus' responds in turn, encircling him like a blanket as he lifts his arm and lays it down over Ratchet's side. He feels the shift as Optimus' engine kicks into low gear, sending a gentle vibration through both of their frames, and sighs contentedly at the familiar hum. Something unspoken passes between them, but-- as happens every time without fail-- he still feels the need to say it out loud.

"I love you."

"And I, you, old friend."


End file.
